Wednesday, Amy had to visit the dentist for a small filling on one tooth and sealant on a molar. My job during this adventure was to be reassuring and stay out of the way. Amy hopped in the dental chair and they leaned the chair back to work on her mouth. The assistant pulled Amy’s shoulders and slid her until Amy’s tiny head rested squarely on the head cushion. This parked her bottom on the area of the chair designed to be a back rest and her legs magically floated over the fold in the chair where booties belong. An orange mask was gently draped over Amy’s nose and two assistants busily applying a sealant nearly blocked my view. I sat in my chair against the wall and watched what I could see, Amy’s feet.
Amy’s feet looked completely relaxed during the sealant procedure. Then, the dentist switched places with one of the assistants and I watched him pick up a metal syringe. Amy’s feet turned in and one went on top of the other. As quickly as Amy’s feet and my entire body tensed, it was done. Her feet relaxed. I sat in my chair on the wall and tried to look like I didn’t feel sick about what was happening. I closed my eyes for a count of ten and then I resumed my feet watching duties. I stared and the feet remained still.
The feet started tapping, like a little tune was playing in Amy’s head. I tried to decide if she was playing or restless. Then, her toes pointed straight down and I tried to make a motion that would get the assistant’s attention without distracting the dentist. When Amy’s hands grabbed her crotch, I made an announcement. “We need to go potty.” The dentist said he was finished and quietly asked Amy if she could wait a few minutes before she tried to sit up. Amy nodded. I began mentally abusing myself for saying “we” instead of “she” while wondering how long Amy could hold it.
The dentist left, the gas was switched to oxygen and I scooted in close to Amy’s face. “I need you to take big, deep breaths so you can get your land legs back.” Amy stared at me as she took exaggerated breaths. The assistant popped the mask off and I helped a very wobbly Amy to the bathroom. Amy did her thing and I lifted her up to the sink to wash her hands. Immediately, I felt the moisture seeping from the seat of Amy’s pants to the leg of my jeans where Amy sat to wash her hands. A few questions determined that by the time Amy grabbed her crotch in the chair, it was too late to make it to the bathroom. We left the office and made it to the car as quickly as possible.
The tears began almost immediately. Giant, Keane painting eyes silently dripped a steady stream of tears. I tried to convince Amy that the medications just made her too relaxed to hold it, but my words didn’t help. I knew that if we could get home and out of the soggy clothes, she could get past this. I just didn’t know how we were going to make it home. “Amy, if you don’t stop crying, I’m going to pee in my pants so you won’t feel alone.” “What?” “I’m going to pee in my pants. Right now. I’m going to do it. Hold on, I need to concentrate to do it.” Quiet giggles replaced the sniffles and sobs. “It’s too hard to pee while I’m driving. Should I pull over up here and pee in my pants?” “Moooommy. You’re silly.” I’m happy to report that I made it home with dry pants. However, Doug will be the foot watcher on the next visit to the dentist.